


Save a Horse-Adjacent Alien

by Traincat



Category: Fantastic Four (Comicverse)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 02:36:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13137318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Traincat/pseuds/Traincat
Summary: He was minding his own business, sitting in a movie theater in Queens, snacking on popcorn and wondering how many times he could make fun of Johnny Storm’s hair before Aunt May asked why he was so fixated, when the trailers ended, the lights went out, and Johnny appeared on the screen.Peter’s mouth went dry, and it wasn't because of the popcorn.Maybe it was the distance the movie gave him, Johnny up on a screen instead of right in front of him, warm and bright and frighteningly human. Maybe it was how endearingly terrible of an actor he was. Maybe it was the lighting.It was, Peter thought, probably the cowboy boots.





	Save a Horse-Adjacent Alien

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gleesquid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gleesquid/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide!

He could blame his thing for the boots on a lot of people, if he wanted to point fingers. He could blame Johnny, obviously. He could blame the studio that made the movie, or the wardrobe department that had lost their collective minds in the wild, wild west. He couldn’t ever really blame Aunt May, not without feeling both weird and guilty, but it _had_ been her idea to see the movie. He’d suggested every alternative but no, she wanted to see “that nice Johnny Storm.”

He could’ve gone to the Smithsonian and yelled at the wax figure of the Rawhide Kid, honestly. What happened in costume, stayed in costume.

The important thing was, it wasn’t Peter’s fault. He was minding his own business, sitting in a movie theater in Queens, snacking on popcorn and wondering how many times he could make fun of Johnny Storm’s hair before Aunt May asked why he was so fixated, when the trailers ended, the lights went out, and Johnny appeared on the screen.

Peter’s mouth went dry, and it wasn't because of the popcorn. It wasn’t that he hadn’t understood, in an intellectual sort of way, that Johnny was attractive with his big blue eyes and that wavy blond hair, but it had always been a fleeting sort of thought, there and gone again in the space of time it took for him to come up with a really good burn.

Now, Peter couldn’t take his eyes off him.

Maybe it was the distance the movie gave him, Johnny up on a screen instead of right in front of him, warm and bright and frighteningly human. Maybe it was how endearingly terrible of an actor he was. Maybe it was the lighting.

It was, Peter thought, probably the cowboy boots. Johnny’s long, long legs were wrapped in black pants, and the boots were red with spurs, and --

“I just discovered something horrible about myself,” Peter said, and then was immediately shushed by the hirsute gentleman sitting behind him.

 

* * *

 

Six years and several more horrible discoveries about himself later, Johnny burst into the apartment wearing a Wild West get-up and Peter, who had been grabbing a drink, promptly dropped his glass.

“I’m sorry!” Johnny said, throwing his arms around Peter’s neck. He pulled back just enough to kiss him quick before stumbling off into the bedroom. “I’m late, I know, but you wouldn’t _believe_ the wagon traffic out on the prairie –”

The boots were red. Peter had to take a second to steady himself against the counter, glancing up at the ceiling.

“If this is a test, frankly, it’s unfair,” he said. “But if this is you rewarding me for the 15 years of self-sacrifice and countless good deeds… I’ll take it.”

Johnny was still talking in the bedroom. Peter picked up the tail end of the rant as he leaned in the doorway, watching as Johnny shrugged out of his jacket. The white shirt he wore underneath looked like it’d seen better days, not that that did anything to bank the fire of Peter's desire. “And then Ben has to rush enemy side, _of course_ , but luckily Sue was still invisible so she managed to – why are you looking at me like that?”

“What am I looking at you like?” Peter asked, shaking himself out of it.

“Like you’re thinking about something,” Johnny said. He hadn’t taken the boots or the tight leather pants off yet, and Peter was immensely thankful. “And it’s going to be trouble for me.”

“Moi? Trouble for you?” Peter said, pulling Johnny into his arms. He ran his hands up his sides appreciatively. The boots had just enough heel to make Johnny a little taller than him. He reached up to curl a hand around the back of his neck. “Perish the thought. Where’s my welcome home kiss?”

“You already had it,” Johnny told him, but he tilted his head and pressed their lips together obligingly anyway. He’d clearly meant to keep it short and sweet, but Peter had other ideas. He palmed the small of Johnny’s back and brought him in closer.

“Peter?” Johnny said, tilting his head as Peter kissed his cheek, his jaw, his neck. “I gotta get dressed. We’re going to be late for dinner with Ben and Alicia…”

“They won’t be shocked,” Peter said, nipping at that spot on his throat that always made him shiver. He soothed with a kiss. “You can warm something up for us later. No big deal, right? Hey, I missed you.”

“What’s gotten into you?” Johnny asked, laughing a little as Peter’s hands skimmed down his sides, thumbs hooking in the waistband of his pants. “Not that I mind a little fire...”

He gasped as Peter picked him up as easily as a throw pillow and he locked his legs around Peter’s waist automatically. The heels of his boots dug into Peter’s back; he groaned a little, toppling Johnny down onto their unmade bed and following after him.

There were weirder kinks, he told himself. Johnny smelled like travel dust and leather, his usual matchstick scent underneath. His touch blazed. They’d been apart three days and Peter was going to make him scream.

“Hey, easy,” Johnny said, touching Peter’s cheek to still him when he leaned in again. “We agreed on easy, remember? On account of how you were just _stabbed_?”

“It was a minor stabbing,” Peter said, breathless at the sight of Johnny spread out under him, still in half his cowboy outfit, his unfortunate fantasy come true, and not at all from the stab wound, which was almost entirely healed.

“That’s what you always say,” Johnny said, rolling his eyes. “It was only a minor stabbing! I only busted two of my ribs! The building that fell on me was only five stories!”

“You really get a feel for those stories after your third or fourth building,” Peter said, snickering. Johnny’s groan of annoyance became something else entirely when Peter’s hands gripped his waist. He leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Hey, do you remember that Western you did?”

Johnny froze. He pushed at Peter’s chest until Peter backed off enough for Johnny to look him in the eye. He had one eyebrow raised.

“Do you mean the movie I filmed half of before they replaced me with special effects and what I’m now pretty sure was a shapeshifter?” Johnny asked archly. “The movie that totally tanked my burgeoning film career? The movie I learned I was done on the same day my sister almost died giving birth to my niece, if not for the assistance of Doctor freakin’ Doom?”

“Uh,” Peter said, hand to the back of his neck. “Any chance you made another Western?”

Johnny lifted himself up on his elbows. “No, please, what were you going to say about the movie I made while _unable to control my powers_? I’d love to hear your take on one of the worst times of my life!”

“You think you were having a terrible time?” Peter said, sitting up and throwing his hands in the air. “ _I_ was the one graphically imagining lassoing one of my best friends, sitting in a movie theater next to my aunt and what felt like half the geriatric population of Forest Hills!”

There was a beat.

“Wait,” Johnny said. “What?”

“Alright, maybe you were still having the worse time,” Peter conceded, face hot.

“Let’s rewind five seconds? You _what_? Lassoing _who_?”

“Don’t make me tell the embarrassing story,” Peter said, taking Johnny’s hand in his own.

“But the embarrassing stories are the sexiest thing about you!” Johnny said, eyes sparking. “Come on, I had a really long day on the extraterrestrial prairie –” Peter swallowed hard and immediately hated himself for it “—and then I get home and my boyfriend’s being weird.”

“You used to like me being weird,” Peter said. “Has the spark faded already?”

Johnny kicked him with the tip of one boot, which sadly did nothing to cool Peter’s libido. He rolled over and away from him, watching him with those cool blue eyes.

“I didn’t even know you saw that movie,” he said. “Didn’t seem like your kind of film.” When Peter grumbled under his breath, Johnny leaned in closer, one hand cupped to his ear. “What was that?”

“I said, you can get my aunt to see anything with a saloon in it, alright?” Peter said. “I was just being a dutiful nephew.”

Johnny snickered, reaching out to pinch his cheek. “Aw. Now get to the part about me.”

“What’s there to say?” Peter asked, faceplanting down into the pillows. He turned his head when Johnny slid his fingers into his hair, just enough so that he was audible when he said, “We went, we paid too much for matinee tickets, the curtain went up, and then I had to keep the popcorn bucket planted firmly in my lap for the rest of the showing because the sight of your legs in those pants and those boots did things to me.” He paused. “Wait. What did you say about a shapeshifter?”

“Never mind,” Johnny said, laughing. “That’s hilarious. Really? I offer to show you my sex tape and nada, but a pair of _cowboy boots_ \--?”

“Maybe if you’d been wearing them in the sex tape,” Peter grumbled, fumbling for the pillow so he could smother himself with it. Johnny grabbed it away from him.

“You don’t know that I wasn’t,” Johnny preened, grinning. He pushed at Peter’s shoulder until he rolled over, then straddled his hips, staring down at him as he struck a pose. “This is what does it for you, huh? I should get a hat.”

“I wouldn’t say no,” Peter said, settling his hands at Johnny’s hips.

Johnny cast a thoughtful glance at the ceiling even as Peter hooked his thumbs into his belt loops and started to grind up against him, watching as heat crept into Johnny’s cheeks. He was such an easy blusher, to Peter’s endless delight.

“I should do the responsible thing and tell you to take a cold shower, because we’re supposed to be meeting Ben and Alicia in like, five minutes,” Johnny said, not exactly getting off of Peter’s lap.

“But?” Peter prompted, tightening his grip on Johnny’s hips.

“But the responsibility is supposed to be your thing, not mine, so sorry, Ben,” Johnny said flippantly, grinning down at him. He leaned in for a kiss and Peter eagerly met him. “Besides, I missed you too.”

“Yeah?” Peter asked, reaching up to curl his hand in Johnny’s hair. He rubbed their noses together.

“Parts of you,” Johnny corrected.

Peter kissed him again, slow and deep, trying to make it so all Johnny could focus on was the slide of their mouths while he reached between them and tore his shirt in two in one easy motion. Johnny gasped into the kiss, then had to break it so he could laugh, leaning back to shrug out of the remains of his shirt.

“Is that how you want it, Spidey?” he asked, running his hand down his chest as he rocked in Peter’s lap.

“Yeah,” Peter said, working at his belt. He tossed it carelessly over the side of the bed, undoing Johnny’s pants and slipping his hand inside. “But you leave the boots on.”

“You’re _so_ weird,” Johnny said, breath hitching as Peter cupped his groin. “I own like, five pairs of these, I’ve just never worn them around you because I was so sure you’d say something, and now you tell me they’re a turn on?”

“I’m full of surprises,” Peter said, pulling his hand out of Johnny's pants. His other hand sneaked around to grab Johnny’s ass. “You know what they say – save a horse, ride a Spider-Man.”

“No one has ever said that, jerk,” Johnny said, flushed all down his chest.

“Well, baby, if you’re a cowboy,” Peter continued, heedless of any petty insults, finding the seam on the outer leg of Johnny’s pants. He tore and the leather parted as easily as wet paper. “Then I’m your _stallion_.”

“I regret this,” Johnny said, breath hitching the way it always did when Peter indulged in a little enhanced strength in the bedroom. “I’m backing out, I changed my mind – _Pete._ ”

“Yes?” Peter asked innocently, working on the opposite leg. He gripped Johnny’s bared thighs. “Up, so we can get these off.”

Johnny pulled away and Peter made quick work of his pants, revealing the Fantastic Four-patterned boxers underneath. Johnny yelped when he snapped the waistband.

“These don’t seem period appropriate,” he said. They looked mass marketed, so he went ahead and tore those off too, eyeing Johnny’s hard cock hungrily before his gaze slipped down those long legs, all the way down to the cowboy boots.

“You’re an animal,” Johnny said. “The first rule of stealing clothes from the locals is that you leave them their underwear.”

“I thought the first rule was that you checked the pockets for spare cash,” Peter joked, taking the opportunity to shed his own clothes. He settled back against the pillows, palming himself. “Let me look at you for a second.”

Johnny settled back on the bed on his side, head propped up on one hand. His eyes were shining as he traced his fingers down his chest. “Is this what you imagined?”

Peter took him in, the long lines of him, that hot blue stare, and those red, red boots. He shivered, stroking himself. The corner of Johnny’s mouth curled; Peter was going to have to get him to pull out those boots for a private shoot sometime, because he was pretty sure if he tried to get up and get his camera now, Johnny would kill him.

“More or less, hot stuff,” he said.

He telegraphed the move before he made it, let Johnny see it coming, so Johnny was already laughing by the time Peter tackled him down onto his back, rolling onto him. He kissed a line down Johnny’s chest, down that flat stomach, until he could lick his cock.

The noises Johnny made were music to his ears as he took him in his mouth, those long legs bent, the heels of his boots catching on the sheets. Peter didn’t even care that he’d have to make a trip down to the laundry room later. He kept his hands on Johnny’s hips, easily holding him down.

He hollowed his cheeks and Johnny jerked, then yelped when the heel of his boot knocked into Peter’s thigh, barely hard enough for him to feel it.

“Sorry!” Johnny gasped. “Sorry.”

Peter pinched his hip, pulling off with a wet pop. “Hey, quit it. If you think I didn’t think about the heels of those boots digging into my back, well, I’ve got news for you.”

He tried to sink back down but Johnny’s thighs closed around him, ankles crossed and the heels of his boots skating down Peter’s spine.

“Pete,” Johnny whined. “Please.”

“Yeah, okay,” Peter said, kissing the inside of his thigh. “I got you, hot stuff. Always.”

That got him a smile as he moved back up Johnny’s body, leaning over him to reach the bedside drawer. He groped blindly for a minute, during which Johnny took the opportunity to try and tickle him, his fingers skating across Peter’s ribs lightning fast, skirting with expert accuracy around a few fading bruises.

Peter could have returned the favor and teased right back, drawing things out until Johnny was panting for it, but the truth was he was pretty keyed up himself, ready to be inside Johnny again. Even just a few days apart seemed like torture, and having to keep his patrols light on account of his healing wound had left him without any outlet besides heckling cable news, which just wasn’t the same without Johnny anymore.

Alright, so maybe he’d always been planning on them skipping out on double date night with Ben, cowboy boots or no cowboy boots.

He got Johnny ready for him with a practiced ease, three fingers deep by the time Johnny started insulting the spider that bit him, hot gaze trailing some pretty literal sparks.

“Impatient,” Peter joked as he pulled his fingers away, reaching for the lube again. The truth was he was feeling pretty impatient too. Three days without Johnny’s face – hadn’t he used to call that a holiday weekend?

Stupid Peter Parker, with his head in the clouds and his dream boy right in front of him.

He had to kiss Johnny as he started to push in, Johnny’s thighs spread obscenely wide for him, the byproduct of all those yoga classes Peter ruthlessly made fun of. Three days – all it took to put things in perspective, sometimes.

“Mm, I forgot –” Johnny bit off, teeth sinking into that plush lower lip.

“What?” Peter asked, rocking into him. “How big my cock is? How good I fill you up? How crazy I drive you? Pick a number, any number.”

“How _annoying_ you get,” Johnny groaned, arm thrown over his eyes. Peter snickered to himself, trying for another kiss. He got it after a second, Johnny moving his arm so he could tangle his fingers in Peter’s hair instead, blunt nails scratching across his scalp as their tongues tangled and their hips moved and they fell back into rhythm with each other. As easy as that.

Peter hadn’t realized how much he’d missed him until he had him again.

He broke the kiss with a pang of reluctance, shifting both of their weight as he rolled them over, him down on his back and Johnny braced above him, gasping half from the kiss and half because of how the change in position made him sink deeper onto Peter’s cock. Peter had to bite back on a groan himself, palming Johnny’s spread thighs.

“Well, cowboy?” he said. “How about that ride?”

Johnny, face flushed and cock leaking, was past the point where he could do more than glare at Peter, very little of all the heat in his eyes from true annoyance. He tilted his head back and ran his own fingers down his throat, arching his back as he started to move, his blond hair mussed and his bottom lip worried red. There was a bruise on his arm that Peter hadn’t noticed before, a ring of marks, like someone with too many fingers had grabbed him too rough.

Before he could stop himself, Peter reached up and wrapped his own hand over the ugly purple bruising. “What happened here, pretty boy?”

“Oh my God, Peter,” Johnny snapped breathlessly, rolling his hips. “Right now? Really?”

“Sorry,” Peter said, caressing his arm. He couldn’t help the frown that crept onto his face – Johnny’s powers meant that seeing him bruised or broken was a thankfully rare occurrence. He still hated it.

“Weirdo,” Johnny said, but there was affection creeping into his voice. He wrapped his hand around his leaking cock, stroking himself, and threw his head back. “I can’t believe that’s what you’re, _ah_ , looking at…”

“I’m looking at plenty, Johnny, trust me,” Peter said, gaze tracking the long line of his neck, the pink flush spreading well down his chest, those elegant fingers wrapped around his cock. There was nothing but heat in his veins. “I really did miss you.”

Johnny, eyes closed, nodded jerkily. “I know. Me too.”

“I _love_ you,” Peter said, catching Johnny by the hips and squeezing just a shade north of too hard, the way he knew Johnny liked best.

“Oh,” Johnny gasped, head falling forward. He laughed through a moan, tightening around Peter. “You’re okay, I guess.”

Peter leaned up, keeping a hard grip on Johnny’s hips as he settled him in his lap, and Johnny met him eagerly, his mouth open over Peter’s. Those long legs wrapped around Peter’s waist, the heels of his boots digging in just how Peter had guiltily imagined the night after he’d seen _The Rawhide Kid_ , alone in his apartment with just his right hand for company. He groaned and picked up the pace, fucking relentlessly into Johnny’s tight heat. Johnny whined into the kiss, fingers tightening almost painfully in Peter’s hair. Peter bit his lip, then soothed over it with his tongue, as he reached behind him with one hand to grip Johnny’s ankle tight through the soft leather of his boots, thumb pressed hard to the knob of his ankle.

Johnny came with a strangled gasp, spilling all over his stomach, but Peter didn’t stop. Instead he picked up the pace, chasing his own needs as Johnny shuddered and clung to him, urging Peter on in a wrecked whisper, his arms wrapped tight around him.

Peter’s orgasm hit him like the R Train. He dropped his forehead to Johnny’s shoulder, his groan almost torn out of him, hands flexing against Johnny’s skin. Johnny raked his fingers through Peter’s hair.

“Love you, too, Pete,” he said, laughing. Peter gently bit at his throat, nuzzling at his neck.

 

* * *

 

“Really? Really, really, though?”

Peter, mouth full of noodles, chose to answer Johnny’s delighted voice with a glare. He swallowed hard, wiped the back of his mouth off on one of the cheap paper napkins that had been thrown into the bag along with their takeout and said, “Why does this surprise you so much?”

“I’m gonna confess, I kind of thought you were just trying to get me into bed right away,” Johnny said, lounging against the armrest in a pair of Peter’s boxers and a Spider-Man shirt. He licked sauce from the corner of his mouth. Peter watched the flick of his tongue with a little curl of heat; three days without Johnny was, after all, three days without Johnny’s tongue.

He rocked a hand from side to side. “It was 20% that. Maybe thirty.”

He could see the boots through the open bedroom door, lying innocuously against the wood floors.

“Hey, come on, you made _so_ much fun of me when I wanted you to put on that old black costume and play like I didn’t know what your face looked like under there,” Johnny said, throwing a cashew at Peter. Like a seal, he caught it in the air. “I’m allowed my two or three days of mockery, with repeat performances during major holidays.”

“I’m forbidding it,” Peter said, leveling Johnny with his sternest glower. Johnny’s grin stayed exactly where it was. “Did you hear me? This is my forbidding voice. It’s forbade.”

“Whatever you say,” he said, flicking Peter a hot look from under his eyelashes, “ _pardner_.”

Peter groaned, tilting his head back until it rested against the back of the couch. He considered the ceiling seriously for a moment.

“But you’re keeping the boots, right?”

Johnny made a noise like he was deep in consideration. “I’m _supposed_ to return all this stuff to the Baxter Building, since it did technically come from a different universe and all that.”

“ _But_?” Peter pressed, turning towards him.

“But you tore most of it to shreds anyway,” Johnny said, shrugging. “So I guess I can just tell Reed that the boots didn’t survive the encounter, either. He won’t want to ask too many questions.”

Peter growled deep in his chest, taking Johnny’s takeout container out of his hand and setting it on the coffee table as he leaned in for a kiss. Johnny met him eagerly, letting out an ‘oof’ as Peter tackled him to the couch.

“Welcome home, cowboy,” Peter said.


End file.
